


Little Girl Lost

by danaheeroduomax



Series: Little Girl [1]
Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Mystery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danaheeroduomax/pseuds/danaheeroduomax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl witnesses the murder of her mothers and not trusting the cops goes to Donald.  Now he has to figure out who killed her mothers and is after her while trying to protect not just the girl but his partner, Timothy, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Girl Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the boys I wish I did, but they belong to those who created and then brought them to life and into our lives.
> 
> Author’s Note: This is the first time writing a Donald Strachey Mystery fanfiction I hope everyone enjoys it. I know I enjoyed writing it that’s for sure.
> 
> This chapter was bated by Candy Apple, who's a great writer I love her stuff. She disserves credit on this first chapter.

Sixteen-year-old Amanda was lying on her bed reading a textbook for history.  Her room was painted a nice navy blue on the walls, with white clouds behind her bed and above it to help ease and relax her when she needed to calm her racing mind and heart.  Her desk was covered with papers and textbooks for school, and her blue backpack was resting next to it.

 

Amanda was wearing a pink blouse buttoned up and showing a little cleavage, a blue skirt that goes just past the knees and white socks. Her nutmeg colored hair was tied up with a red ribbon, her green eyes skimming the pages as she read.

 

She looked up from her book as she heard the door bell ring.  It was Saturday and she wasn’t expecting anyone, but maybe her parents were.  Her thoughts were quickly interrupted as she heard gunshots downstairs.  She jumped off the bed and went to the door.  She opened it and heard men’s voices, she slipped out of her room snuck down the stairs and peeked around the corner wall.  Two men were wielding guns, one was in front of Linda Coulter her second mother, who was lying in the foyer bleeding from a head wound.  Amanda watched as Miranda Burbank crawled from the foyer into the living room bleeding in the side.  The first gunman she saw had his back to her he looked at the second gunman (she couldn’t see his face to clearly do to the shadows of his hood) as the first man pointed to Miranda.  The second man walked next to her and shot her, she stopped moving.  Amanda let out a startled sound; she quickly put her hand to her mouth.  But it was too late they had already heard, “Upstairs.”  The first man said to the second.

 

Amanda turned and raced back to her room she had tears running down her face as she opened her window, pushing out the screen and using the fire ladder her mother’s kept in the house.  Once she was on the ground, she ran to the sidewalk, where she saw a black SUV sitting in front of her house.  She ran to the gas station not far from her home and called the police, but she was too scared to leave her name.

 

She didn’t want to be a witness, so she spent a couple of hours at a friend’s; then when she goes home she’ll use said friend as her alibi for where she’d been when the cops ask.  Jessica was sweet she listened to Amanda cry and tell her what she’d seen, Jessica also let her take a shower and change clothes, she had grass stains on her socks and dirt on her skirt.  After her shower she told Jessica how scared she was, she had nowhere to go, no other family to count on.

 

Jessica was a short slightly plump fifteen year-old who had reddish blond hair that was constantly getting tangled and she wore mostly jeans and tank tops.  Amanda knows that Jessica is in love with her, she told her years ago as well as the fact that she’s a lesbian.  She’s too scared to tell her parents so she hides all her stuff in a box under her bed.  Which at this point she pulled out, opening it she retrieved the magazine called The Advocate, it was her favorite and only magazine she reads.

 

“Here, I think he might help.”  She opened it to the article about the Private Investigator named Donald Strachey.  “I’ll give you some money to pay him sweetie.”

 

Amanda smiled at her friend, “Thank you.”  They hugged before Amanda went home to face the police.

 

***                                          ***                                          ***                                          ***

 

**Six Days Later**

Donald was having a pretty good week-a light week-and he finished updating his last client on his progress and e-mailed him the pictures of his wife with his business partner having a fling and that was that.  He would receive his last payment the next afternoon and be finished in time to spend the weekend with Timmy.  Donald checked the time; it was almost noon and time for lunch.  He saw Kenny starting to get up and grab his stuff to go to lunch.

 

“Don, need me to pick you up anything for lunch?”  Kenny asked when he opened the door that separated them.

 

“No I think I’ll take Timmy out today.”  He hit speed dial to call Tim, and Kenny waved as he left when Timmy answer.  “Hey, honey, how would you like to go to lunch?”  Donald asked as he grabbed his keys.

 

“Sounds great, I was just wondering about that myself.  So I’ll see you soon.”

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, sweetheart.”

 

“Love you, honey.”

 

“Love you, too.”  Don hung up just as a young girl walked in wearing a white blouse and blue jeans, white sneakers and a blue backpack.  Her nutmeg colored hair was put up with a red ribbon and her green eyes looked shy and a little scared which got his attention.  “Can I help you?”  He asked as he walked around his desk to greet her.

 

“Are you Donald Strachey the detective?”  She asked.

 

“Depends, you’re not gonna hit me are you?”  Donald asked, as he’d been hit twice that week by women asking the same thing.

 

She looked confused but answered.  “No, I’m looking for help.”  She informed him.

 

“You seem a little young to need a detective.  How old are you?”  Donald asked as he went back in his office and the girl followed.

 

“I’m sixteen and I…I need you to find the men that killed my mothers.”  Donald turned and looked at her a moment, surprised.  He sat against his desk as he crossed his legs at the ankles.  “Have a seat, Miss…”

 

“Burbank, Amanda Burbank.  God, that sounds like James Bond.  Please just call me Amanda.”  She sat on the couch.

 

“Okay, Amanda it is.  You said mothers… I’m guessing your parents were a lesbian couple.”

 

Amanda nodded as she swallowed the rising tears.  “Yes, they were killed by two guys last week.  I came to you because you’re gay, too, and the cops don’t care that two dykes got killed.  I figured you would.  Please, you have to help me.”  She sounded desperate as she moved to put some hair behind her ear that got loose.  Donald saw a bruise on her wrist.

 

“Where’d you get that?”  Don asked.  There was a lot Donald could let go but few things he couldn’t.  Women and children being abused was one of them.  Murder was another, no matter what gender the victims were.  And, of course, Timmy being scared or hurt for any reason was on top of a very short list of things he can’t let go.

 

“Social services put me in a foster home, and they have three boys – all of them jerks.  They keep looking in my window while I’m changing and mess up the bathroom so I can’t have a proper shower.  And the father is a dead beat drunk always yelling and hitting his wife and kids.  Last night, I threatened to call the police.  This bruise along with others was his answer to that.”

 

“Well you’re not going back there, Amanda.  I’ll just call Social services right now and fix that.”  Don informed her as he picked up his phone.

 

“Please don’t.  I’ll handle it.  Besides, they may end up putting me somewhere worse.”

 

“Okay,”  Don said, hanging up the phone again.  “I won’t call, yet.  But if he hits you again, I want you to call; do you have somewhere you can go?”  Donald asked.

 

“I have a friend but I can’t stay there, I don’t have any other family.”

 

“Well here’s my number, if you need anything just call, I can even pick you up and bring you to my place if you need somewhere to stay, you’ll be safe there.”  Don handed Amanda one of his cards after writing his address on the back of it.  He’s never done this for a client before; then again he’d never had a scared child just turned orphan as a client.  Something about her was pulling at every protective string he had, and up until now, only Timmy had ever done that.

 

“Thanks but I can’t do that to you.”  She sounded sincere, as if she wasn’t looking for help for herself, but justice for her parents.

 

“Nonsense.  My partner, Timmy, would love it.  He likes company and he’d never forgive himself if you got hurt when we could help.”  That reminded Don that Tim was waiting for lunch.  “Speaking of Tim, give me one second.”  Don picked up the phone and called Tim.

 

“Hello, handsome.”  The greeting Don received brought a smile to his face, and then he frowned as he remembered what he had to say.  “Hey, honey, I’m sorry but you’ll have to find lunch some other way.  A client walked in just as I was leaving and she really needs my help.  I promise I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

 

Tim sighed, sounding disappointed, but he was understanding, and said a quick “I love you” before they said good bye.

 

“Now, Amanda, tell me about last week and everything that happened.”  Don said as he hung up and placed his cell in his pocket.

 

***                                          ***                                          ***                                          ***

 

Amanda told her tale, including what she left out for the police, like the fact that she was there, and that she made the call and went to a friend for an alibi.  Donald listened without interrupting.  He pulled out a handkerchief for her to wipe the tears away and blow her nose.

 

“I’m sorry for crying like this.”

 

“That’s okay.  It’s only been a week – you’re allowed to cry.  I’m sorry for your loss.”  He paused.  “So you saw the men, did you see their faces?”  Donald asked.

 

“No, one had his back to me the whole time; the other was hidden in shadow by a hood.  I drew a picture.”  She reached into her backpack and pulled out a sketch book, she ripped out the two pictures of the men.  Donald looked at it, they were really good, very detailed and yeah where the shadows were over his face he couldn’t see him real well.

 

“Did they see you?”  Don asked.

 

“I don’t know if they saw me, but I think they heard me.  That’s when I ran.”

 

“Alright, now I’m calling Social Services, and we’re going to get you out of that foster home.  You’re staying with us.”  Now that he knew the situation and that she needed protection, he’d have to call Bub and get the case file.  And he knew he’d have to protect her because the police wouldn’t take that on if it wasn’t 100% sure that they saw her and would come after her.

 

“What about Tim?  Are you sure it will be okay with him?”  She asked.

 

Donald got his phone out and called Timmy, who picked up on the third ring.  “You’re too late.  I already ate.”  Timmy greeted with a smile in his voice.

 

“Honey, you know I love you right?”  Don asked.

 

“Yes… Don, what’s going on?”  Timmy always knew something was up when Don asked something like that.

 

“My new client…she’s young and she could be in danger.  I need to protect her, and the best way to do that is if she’s staying at our house.  I’ll explain everything tonight but I can’t talk long now.  I have to look into this case.”

 

“Of course, she should stay with us.”  Timmy replied, accepting it as part of being married to a private eye.

 

“I love you.”  Don said, relieved.

 

“I love you, too.”  Tim replied.  “See you tonight.”  With that Don hung up.

 

“It’s fine with Tim.  Now where’s your house?”  Don asked.  She reached into her pack again and this time pulled out a house key, along with a piece of paper with her address on it.  Don took both and then walked her to the parking lot where they got in his car; she looked at it and decided to say something.  “This is your car, I feel sorry for you.  I’m also sorry I don’t have much cash.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, just don’t lie to me, and we’ll call it even.”


End file.
